


The Battle of Clontarf, 2373

by the_last_dillards



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Battle of Clontarf, Blow Jobs, Brian Boru - Freeform, Costumes, Holodecks/Holosuites, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/pseuds/the_last_dillards
Summary: Julian pays his dues to the High King of Ireland after a hard-fought battle won.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Miles O'Brien
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	The Battle of Clontarf, 2373

**Author's Note:**

> Knowledge of the Battle of Clontarf isn't necessary for this fic but if you're like me and had never heard of it before and want know more, here's a [youtube video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMRDyYzl39k) explaining the basics.
> 
> Also for ref, their outfits are the same as [the ones seen at the beginning of 'Bar Association.'](https://memory-alpha.fandom.com/wiki/Battle_of_Clontarf?file=Battle_of_Clontarf.jpg)
> 
> As with any content I write featuring Julian/Miles or Kira/Keiko, assume the O’Briens have a fully informed poly relationship going on.

“God, Brian Boru must be rolling in his grave at this.”

Miles moaned the words, head lolled back and eyes hooded to watch the treacherous deed be done.

If his brain wasn’t currently being sucked out through his cock, he might’ve been able to think further on that sentiment and realize there was a good chance that reenacting the battle that had resulted in not only Boru’s death but that of a great many of his close relatives and thousands of Irish warriors for fun in what was no doubt a wildly historically inaccurate program might be viewed as distasteful by some, including those being represented. But then again, it might not. Perhaps Boru would feel honored by his memory being kept alive more than a thousand years past.

Though probably not in this very specific way.

Miles lounged on a wooden throne in his—Boru’s—tent near the battlefield on the beach at Clontarf, legs spread wide, tunic hiked up, and leggings tucked down to allow Julian access to his prick.

Did Brian Boru even have a throne? Let alone a portable one kept in his battle tent for receiving visitors? It didn’t matter.

What did matter was Julian, handsomely done up in medieval costume, between his knees with mouth stretched wide, a bit of drool pooling around the edge of his lip. His eyes were closed as if he were in bliss, and Miles couldn't help but to run a hand through his hair, ruffling it just that tad bit more.

At the feeling of fingers in his hair, Julian glanced up, making eye contact with Miles. He took his time giving one last long extravagant suck before pulling off with an obscene _pop!_ that couldn’t be anything other than purposeful.

He answered Miles’s statement (which had been intended more as a trivial observation than a conversation starter), licking away the bit of saliva with a flick of his tongue and continuing to run a hand absently up and down Miles's cockshaft as he spoke, “Bold of you to assume that he’s not cheering you on. Just think, a battle won and a dashing warrior at your feet, sucking you off. What high king wouldn’t want that?”

“The high king that’s met you.”

Julian gave him a look. “I _can_ stop, Miles, if that’s what you want. We can walk out of the holosuite here and now.”

“What, with a tent in my skirt and giving everyone flashes as we walk down the stairs? You do your job, warrior.”

He was given a raised brow at that and a mocking little bow.

“Of course, your majesty.”

Julian’s eyes focused back in on the cock before him, lips parting and tongue sticking out ever so slightly as he leaned in to slip it back into that warm softness. 

If someone had told the Miles O’Brien of four years ago that one day he would not only enjoy but actively seek out Julian Bashir’s company, he’d have laughed it off as a bad joke. If they had insisted that he would secretly find that ridiculous leotard Julian insisted on wearing for racquetball cute and would have the flavor of Julian’s lip gloss intimately memorized, he might’ve called them mental and threatened to call station security for harassment.

The Miles O’Brien of four years ago could never have imagined this reality. That in his inevitable surrender to Julian’s pestering, instead of sentencing himself to a lengthy death from constant verbal batterment, he’d be opening up a whole new world of possibilities.

Was Julian still needy at the best of times, downright snoopy, and the same arrogant, annoying, awkward man that had plagued him in those early years? The answer was yes, guilty to all charges. He might've changed in his own small ways, had become less pushy and a fraction less excitable, but at the core, Julian was still the same old pest, and Miles wouldn’t have him any other way.

In truth, what had changed was Miles. He’d broken. Let his pride and contempt go and put himself back together with a touch more humility. 

The rewards had been immediate. Julian was good company, open minded and open eared, always ready to listen to his woes as they tried whatever new sport or program they’d decided on today.

He was, of course, still right annoying at times, but as their relationship had progressed, it was no longer so much a ‘make Miles want to tape his mouth shut’ sort of annoyance as much as it was the ‘make Miles want to bend him over the nearest console’ sort. (Though the tape could still make an interesting addition to that.)

Miles had never had much interest in men. Sure, he’d experimented just as much as anyone else in his younger years, given and received a helping hand or two from a few comrades on the Rutledge. But his gaze tended to fall towards prettier things. Women, namely.

The problem was this; Julian Bashir was very very pretty, from his nose to his cock.

If Miles had to pick a moment to place the beginning of his downfall, when the cracks in his armor had fissured beyond repair, it would be during that incident with the T’Lani when he and Julian had been stranded on a planet with two alien armies after them. There had been a scant few seconds when Julian was sitting in a window, talking, and he had leaned back into the building, light illuminating him from behind and blinking as he came back into the shadow, and in that moment Miles saw him and thought—

 _“Mmm,”_ Julian pulled off his cock to loudly smack his lips. “Miles, old boy, you taste absolutely delicious today. Have you been eating those fruit salads I recommended by any chance?”

Leave it to Julian to ruin a moment.

The hand Julian had had around the base of his cock crept up to run in lazy circles around his foreskin before drifting a little further up to play with his head. Miles tried not to read any metaphors into that thought, even as Julian gazed up at him with dark eyes and swollen lips that wore a little smirk.

“I don’t know why I let you do this. You enjoy it far too much,” Miles groaned.

“What’s not to enjoy? You have a very nice cock by the way. _Quite_ well endowed. And that’s saying something coming from me, most of the station having come through my office at one time or another. Turn your head left and cough and all that.”

Julian’s thumb stroked him distractingly and his other hand sneaked in to join it, teasing his balls.

“Julian.”

“Very pretty too, the way it flushes all red and little purply. Beautiful veins. Clean foreskin.”

“Julian, are you submitting a review or are you sucking me off?”

“No reason I can’t do both. It's more fun to put thought into it, what makes a good cock. Feel free to argue my points if you'd like. Everyone has their own opinions on the matter.”

And that statement sounded a little too familiar. Julian had once said something vaguely along those lines, albeit about theatre, that one time they’d had lunch when Garak had been away and Julian had attempted to wrangle him into some sort of academic debate.

A sudden intrusive thought entered his head. Mental scenes of Julian and that Cardie arguing over what makes a good cock, whipping out their own to compare, or even sucking off the same people and comparing notes over lunch. The thought simultaneously disgusted and intrigued him.

Julian had always maintained that he and Garak had never been together that way. Miles wasn’t totally convinced that was true, or at least not from Julian’s lunch companion’s point of view. There was a certain possessiveness Garak seemed to have towards his poor friend that in most would imply a history of intimate relations. How many times had Miles glanced up from a darts game only to find the Cardie staring him down a level away?

The words came out before Miles could stop them. “What? Did Garak teach you that too?”

But instead of getting upset at the accusation, Julian just grinned, looking far too smug.

 _“Ooh,_ do I detect a hint of jealousy, Miles? It's alright. He’s much too in love with Cardassia to come between us.”

“Pfft. Why would I care?” he deflected weakly, feeling mortified that he’d decided to bring this up now.

Julian rested his head against the inside of Miles’s thigh, lips only an inch away from his cock, index finger and eyes tracing a line along the inside of his other leg where an inseam would be on his normal trousers.

Julian responded thoughtfully. “Yes. Why would you?”

A stifling beat passed and then the finger became a large hand, rubbing firmly up and down his thigh.

“You know, Miles, I think I rather like these costumes. It shows off your legs.”

Miles breathed a silent sigh of relief, conversation back to safer grounds and a battle he knew how to fight.

“Yeah, well, it itches.”

”Tsk, tsk. What would Brian Boru say?” 

Julian looked up at him with mischievous eyes, breath warming Miles’s cock.

“He’d have nothing to say at all, because in the real battle of Clontarf, he died. You were supposed to let Brodir get me, not make a miraculous last second save, you plonker. I don’t know why I play these programs with you if you’re just going to keep trying to win them.”

Julian lifted his head from Miles’s thigh and slapped a hand over his heart in exaggerated offense. “Well, sorry for staying loyal to my king and having his back. Besides, I think any man would be lucky to have me. I’ve been told I’m very good at erm, paying my dues.”

“Well, at the rate you’re going, I’d have no idea.”

The look Miles got in return, eyes squinted and mouth crunched into a downturn, brought forth all sorts of fantasies of what he'd do to Julian after this. All the little ways he could drive him up the walls even as he got him off. Their armor was a bit too bulky for him to pull Julian up on his lap and give him a handjob, but maybe he could lay Julian out on Boru's sleep pallet instead and then give him back just as good as he got. And if he played it right, tortured Julian long enough, he might even be able to get a second round in for himself.

Those thoughts quickly scattered to the wind as Julian swallowed him down into his throat in one go.

**Author's Note:**

> I like O’Brashir more than I should and that's all BonusMeme’s fault. This is another pairing I've got a few stories for that I hope to finish one day. (And special thanks to Ectogeo for fueling the O'Brashir flames by sending me content they see around ;) ) I am still working on those various garashir projects that are long overdue but I'm on a bit of a writing cleanse for those two right now and just going with the flow of whatever I feel like. Maybe I'll have something next week. Who knows?
> 
> [Gif of that moment from Armageddon Game with Julian blinking from the sun.](https://the-last-dillards.tumblr.com/post/628321282028650496/i-feel-like-this-has-been-gifd-several-times)
> 
> Fun fact: Despite Julian’s teasing, eating fruit has very little effect on the flavor of dick or cum. You’d have to be eating basically nothing else and lots of it before there was any noticeable difference.
> 
> Also, a line that I couldn't figure out how to make work in a semi logical way and am sad I had to leave out >> _'Those thoughts quickly scattered to the wind as Julian went back in tongue first, wrapping it around as close as humanly possible to the thick root of his cock and then making a slow slide up. A distant thought drifted through Miles's head of the fate of Boru's killer, abdomen slashed open and guts spun around a tree.'_ << IE, Julian's dick sucking techniques reminds Miles of disembowelment. 
> 
> Kudo and comments make my day!


End file.
